Hair of the Dog
by Dizzo
Summary: Sometimes the cure can be worse than the disease ... a Lyndworm hunt goes south - Dean suffers as a result.  Rated T for nightmarish visions.  My OC Tom Matthews who first appeared in my story 'Dry' makes a welcome appearance!
1. Chapter 1

HAIR OF THE DOG

A Lyndworm hunt goes south and Dean suffers as a result, nightmarish visions and awesome Sam and Bobby abound, whilst our old friend Tom Matthews from 'Dry' makes an appearance.

A word on Tom; Tom Matthews is my OC; he has only been seen before in my story 'Dry' where Bobby describes him as an old friend, a Doctor who runs an 'off the books' clinic looking after hunters. He is described as short and plump with expressive dark brown eyes. In their first meeting when Dean was, once again, in bad straights, sam liked him and trusted him on sight.

Sometimes, the cure is worse than the disease ...

Disclaimer: Own nothing except my increasingly disturbed mind

xxxxx

Chapter 1

Fever-stricken, Dean shivered miserably in the bed; he breathed in the musty notes of poorly aired bed linen and old books that surrounded him.

He knew the room very well; it was decorated, if you could call it that, for practicality not for aesthetic quality; clean but cluttered with books, manuscripts and assorted junk. He was in the room at Bobby's house that the Winchesters called their own.

This time, however, there was no comforting familiarity to the room. It felt somehow different; soulless, empty. There was no smell of Bobby brewing coffee downstairs, no radio, no sounds at all, even Rumsfeldt was silent. No fluttering of the curtains in the breeze from the open window; in fact, no breeze at all. The air was as still and as featureless as the plastered walls which surrounded it.

The silence surrounded Dean, stifling and suffocating him. Too weak even to move, his fever bright eyes glanced around, scanning the room uneasily. He opened his mouth to call for Sam, but no sound other than a wheezing huff of breath came out.

Suddenly he heard a sound, a tiny, barely audible scuffle. It was followed by another sound, a skittering, scratching sound; light as a whisper.

Widening, nervous eyes continued to scan the still, silent room. A harsh breath caught in his throat as the scuffle sounded again; closer this time.

Then he saw it; a rat. It clambered over the wooden bed frame, and scurried across the blankets. When it stopped, it was sitting on the deepest point of his chest, it's tiny, quivering body gently rocking with his progressively more rapid breaths.

For what seemed like the longest time, they stared at each other. Glassy green eyes stared wide and unblinking at tiny beady, impossibly black orbs.

Dean's eyes broke their focus from his tiny companion as he heard another sound; a tiny scrabbling rustle, impossibly quick and light; his breath hitched at the sound. This time it seemed different; louder maybe? Heavier? Then he realised; multiple. The sound he was hearing was not a scuffle, but lots of scuffling. Far more sound than any one rat could make.

Nervous eyes widened further, tears pooling. He tried to rise, pushing the blankets back, but his muscles failed him.

Feeling like he was pinned to the bed, he watched in horror as another small pointed grey head appeared over the foot of the bed. Jerking wildly, he tried to move, but his attempts were futile.

More rats were now climbing over the side of the bed, a chorus of chittering, squeaking sounds, overplaying a backbeat of scuttling and scrabbling, amplifying as more and more tiny grey bodies squirmed and darted over the side of the bed. Dean convulsed and thrashed, his breath coming in gasps as he tried desperately to escape the banks of tiny grey bodies and trembling whiskers which were congregating on and around him.

He cringed, letting out a hoarse yelp as he felt one squirm it's way under the blankets and scamper along the mattress against his side.

He had lost count, now there were so many, swarming and pouring over the side and bottom of the bed, writhing and squirming on top of and inside the blankets. He gagged at the sour odour of their greasy fur, bucking as they scampered around and over his helpless body; tiny cold feet with needlesharp claws clambering across his twitching legs; clammy fur and trembling whiskers brushing against his arms, yellow, gnawing teeth tugging at the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

He was screaming now, incoherent cries of terror; the word 'Sam' still not able to form in his throat; head thrashing from side to side; the bed was now a throbbing mass of squirming, greasy, tiny grey bodies, wriggling and massing, a single pulsing organism of rats, on his pillow, smothering and surrounding him. A deafening white noise of chattering and squeaking consuming him.

His hands clawed weakly at thin air, fisting and thrashing as the foul, chittering horde gradually engulfed him, his gasping screams becoming shallower and shallower as the pulsating mass closed in over his face …

Xxxxx

Bobby, Tom and Sam all held Dean down as he thrashed wildly in the throes of some terrible nightmare. He twisted and arched frantically, grotesque contortions so violent that Sam was genuinely frightened he was going to snap his spine.

Dean was as strong as a bull; they all knew that; but in this condition, it was taking every ounce of their combined strength to hold him down, to stop him from hurting himself further than he had already been hurt. He was little more than a wild animal, reduced to the basest instinct of staying alive – whatever it took.

Sam leaned over, desperately trying to soothe his delirious brother, drag him out of his dreadful reality; staring intently into the glazed, terror-stricken eyes; trying to be visible as he barked the mantra of Dean's name over and over as he had done during the previous terrible episodes Dean had suffered as the vicious poison and it's equally aggressive antidote wreaked havoc through his body.

Dean's skin was slick with sweat as the fever burned hotter and hotter, making it harder to hold onto him, and it was only after the terrible episode had begun to subside that Sam realised with horror that he had gripped Dean's arm so hard his nails had drawn blood.

The three men stood back as their patient sunk limply into the sweat-soaked mattress, returning to his restless, haunted sleep; his ragged gasps gradually subsiding back into the harsh laboured breathing that had become his norm.

Sam turned from the other two men in the room, shaking as he wiped his eyes, struggling to regain some composure.

Bobby hadn't been exaggerating when he said that the Lyndworm blood was a powerful hallucinogen. Sam prayed it would all be over soon, he didn't know how much more of this punishment Dean could take.

He didn't know how much more he could take.

xxxxx

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 2

Sam reflects on where it all started.

Xxxxx

Midnight.

Dean thrust his hands deep into his pockets and scowled, glancing around him, unimpressed. "So Sammy, remind me why I'm standin' here at the end of world, freezin' my awesome ass off in the middle of the friggin' night?"

Sam sighed from behind the Impala's open trunk.

She was parked in a desolate patch of wasteland with a long abandoned quarrying history; a bare and barren moonscape littered with boulders, pot-holes and craters; it clung to the edge of a deep and tangled forest, it's sparse, dry brush twitching forlornly in the night breeze.

"I could be in bed," Dean mumbled irritably under his breath, leaning back against the hood. "or in a bar …" Craning his head back, he huffed out a wisp of vapour trying to make an 'O' and failed.

"We're lookin' for a Lyndworm Dean;" Sam peered around the car, sporting his finest bitchface. "Didn't you listen to word I said yesterday?"

"Ah Sammy, give a man a freakin' break – you were talkin' to me in the middle of America's Next Top Model … my concentration was wanderin' a bit!"

Sam sighed with a shake of the head; "well, concentrate now; this thing is damned dangerous!" Dean at least had the decency to look admonished. "Fourteen walkers and climbers have died around this spot from unidentifiable giant snake bites in the last two months; another eight are missing without trace – presumed eaten."

He stared at Dean who looked distinctly unimpressed.

"So, we're lookin' for some souped-up rattler? Why can't the Parks Authorities clear that up?"

"OK Dean; for one thing, workin' from the fang marks in the victims, it's likely this thing is twenty feet long or more; two, the venom is 100% lethal - slow an' nasty and it's completely unidentifiable and untreatable by modern medicine; and three, it's not a snake it's a member of the dragon family – it has vestigial front legs."

Dean stared at Sam. "I don' know what scares me more – the fact that we're looking for a 20 foot snake or that you used a word like vestigial … what in the friggin' hell are vestigial front legs?"

"Small and useless" snapped Sam, resisting with every fibre of his being the urge to add 'like you'; "an evolutionary remnant."

Dean continued leaning against the Impala, amusing himself by huffing out vapour clouds.

"What's the lore – how do we kill it?"

"The Lore on this thing is real old - dates from medieval times, most European dragon lore does; the general opinion is that iron does the job," Sam replied, slamming the trunk closed and handing Dean a long, vicious looking iron spike, retaining another himself; "but like all reptiles, it's skin is like armour, you've got to get it in a vulnerable spot like it's eyes or it's belly to kill it."

Dean thought for a moment, and then turned to Sam, "Sammy, how come if this thing is 20 foot long, no-one's seen it? I mean, it's not the kind of thing that can curl up under a rock or live in someone's U-bend."

"The skin has chameleon qualities," Sam replied, "it's skin can change to match it's surroundings to the point it's virtually invisible".

"Cool!" Dean looked genuinely impressed.

"You can bet those poor bastards who died didn't see it until the moment they felt it sink it's fangs in." Sam spoke distractedly as he rummaged in his rucksack.

Dean rubbed his forehead; "Okay, so then geek-boy, riddle me this … if this thing is so hard to see, why the hell are we huntin' it in the dark?"

Sam made a mental note never to even attempt to speak to his brother during 'America's Next Top Model' again.

"Because," Sam pulled a gadget out of his rucksack with a flourish, "the one thing it can't camouflage against is night vision goggles!"

Dean nodded appreciatively, "Smart!"

"This is ground zero Dean, the GPS point at the epicentre of all the attacks – if this thing is going to find us; it'll be here!"

Sam lifted the goggles to his face and began to carefully scan the rock-strewn landscape.

Dean was silent, seemingly lost in thought, until he spoke up. "Sam?"

"What?" Sam hissed, from behind the goggles.

"If this thing's got a 100% kill rate, what can we do – apart from die, I mean – if we get bit?"

Sam looked away from the goggles for a moment; "there is a cure, but it's not the kind of thing you'll find in the family medical encyclopedia." He smiled, "Lyndworm blood."

Dean stared at him, "Lyndworm blood?"

"Yup," grinned Sam, "Lyndworm blood is the only cure against its venom".

"Wow – hi-octane hair of the dog!" Dean grinned; "you got any?"

Sam patted his rucksack, "all taken care of dude …"

Dean shook his head. "My brother has a bottle of dragon blood in his bag – and I'm glad. Man, our lives are so screwed!"

"Just gotta know the right contacts on the internet!" Sam smiled as he raised the goggles to his eyes once more.

Xxxxx

Hours passed.

Dean yawned as he watched fingers of early dawn light trace a line of fire across the horizon. Sitting, knees drawn up to his chest, leaning against the Impala's wheel, he was tired, hungry and bored.

"Sammy, there's no sign of this scaly sonofabitch. I'm tired an' I'm starving - lets give it up, we can come back tomorrow or somethin'."

Sam scanned the horizon and yawned; nodding a reluctant agreement as he opened the Impala's trunk to pack away for the night.

He felt the Impala lurch, and looked up to see the faintest outline of a huge coiled body snaking over her roof, axle bowing under it's weight. The undulating body shimmered like black liquid against her flawless paintwork. Sam gaped, paralysed in momentary shock, but a sudden and hideous strangled cry jolted him back to his senses.

He looked down, his face paling in horror; "DEAN!"

Beside the Impala, Dean was curled up on the ground, arms pinned to his sides, gaping silent and open mouthed as thick coils closed around him, tightening and crushing. Crimson-faced, he gasped and kicked helplessly as Sam sprinted around the car, dodging a huge head which flashed angrily at him with a vicious hiss.

The creature's body was easily the breadth of Sam's chest, flickering and pulsing as it's kaleidoscopic skin mottled and faded around it's surroundings; it's massive coils completely swamping the elder Winchester, with only his weakly twitching legs visible.

Sam thrust the spike at the creature's blurred outline, blinking as he tried to focus on it's indistinct form, making contact with the larger, softer scales across it's belly. It gave a shrieking hiss and lunged viciously at him, it's black blood spraying across his shoulders as he leapt blindly out of it's range, feeling it's hot breath raking the back of his neck.

It lunged again; wide open mouth prominently scarlet against it's obscure, pulsing outline, bearing down on him; long, curved fangs dripping yellow venom. He rolled to one side as it's head smashed into the ground where he had been lying only a second before; it's snout making contact with bone shaking force, dazing it long enough to enable Sam to stumble backwards out of it's range.

He stared up at the creature's body as it arched upwards, looming over him and pinning him against the Impala, flickering in and out of his range of vision like a dying candle flame.

Sam swallowed hard when he saw Dean's unmoving feet, all that was visible of his brother from within the massive scaly knot.

Sam knew he had to act now; blindly thrusting the spike at the creature again, he caught it behind the eye, drawing more thick black blood. It hissed and thrashed, knocking the spike out of Sam's hands with arm-wrenching force. He gasped and managed to grab the fallen spike as the massive head bore down on him again, hissing, and spewing acrid, burning saliva as it lunged at him. With a last desperate effort, he thrust the spike upwards into it's mouth skewering it through the back of the throat.

It's whole body convulsed, skin colours cascading and flashing wildly, forcing Sam to shield his eyes. It uncoiled and thrashed, shrieking and squealing, giving Sam enough time to dart round the back of the impala to grab the second spike. Keeping a close eye on the massive plunging body, he rammed the stake hard into it's belly.

It arched into one mighty spasm, then fell limp to the ground, with a massive crash, into a mass of dust and flying debris.

xxxxx

Sam dropped to his knees, gasping heavily, and coughing through the choking dust, before crawling across to where Dean lay face down, pinned under the colossal creature's dead weight. He dragged his brother's limp form out from under the huge corpse, gently turning him over and laying a large palm flat against his chest, relieved to feel a heartbeat driving shallow, panting breaths.

"Hey Dean, talk to me man", he murmured softly as he brushed the coating of dust from his brother's face.

He took the opportunity to conduct a quick physical check, gently palpitating his brother's rib cage feeling for any crush damage. As he worked his way down the still body, Dean stirred with a soft grunt, "Hey, man" Sam smiled, "I'm not feelin' you up, so don't even ask!"

As he pressed on the floating ribs at his brother's left hand side, he felt a damp warmth, and noticed Dean's brows knot in a pained grimace; concerned, he lifted his hand away and was horrified to see it was slick with blood.

"Jesus, dude, I hope that's not what I think it is …"

Trying to ignore the crawling stabs of fear in his chest, he lifted the hem of the shirt, pulling it halfway up his brother's chest. His guts turned to water when he saw a mass of pooling blood across Dean's stomach, and just above his left hip bone, two perfectly round puncture wounds.

xxxxx

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 3

The extent of Dean's desperate position becomes clear.

xxxxx

Sam stared in dumbstruck horror at the dark stain on his brother's flank and swallowed back a wave of panic, pulling off his overshirt and pressing it over the wound.

"Dean; oh God, Dean … wake up … please," he croaked frantically.

Inwardly scolding himself for panicking, he forced himself to think straight; right, first off, what did he know about treating poisons?

OK, first, don't let the patient move around, don't get the blood circulating round the body any more than was necessary – check;

Keep them breathing – check; Dean was doing that seemingly okay;

Call the emergency services – check. Sam almost laughed when he imagined the conversation … "Hello 911, how can I help you?" "Oh hi, my brother's been bitten by a mythological poisonous twenty foot creature from medieval folklore that represents an allegory of Man's insignificance in the face of nature's power …"

Ok, may need to pass on that one …

He looked down to see his brother's eyes fluttering open.

"Hey Dean," he murmured softly, one arm instinctively travelling up to rest on his brother's shoulder to prevent him trying to rise.

Dean looked up at Sam, "… got … cuddled by a snake …" he croaked, a lopsided smile playing across his face.

"Yeah, you really scored there;" Sam choked, trying to keep a levity in his voice that wasn't there.

"stomach hur's …"

"Yeah, I know dude, don't move, I'm gonna sort that out," Sam continued to keep a gentle downward pressure on Dean's shoulder, "I'm just going over to the trunk; I've gotta get you some medicine, dude"

Dean looked down at his exposed belly. "bit me?"

"Yeah" sighed Sam, pulling Dean's hand over the bloody cloth on his wound, "hold that." He heaved himself to his feet and headed towards his rucksack in the trunk, "just going to get the medicine – stay put."

Dean nodded, wincing as the tiny movement somehow triggered a twinge in his stomach.

"Came over so fast. Din't see it or hear it." Dean muttered absently staring at the dawn sky as he remained laying flat on his back.

Sam was back at his side, "neither did I dude, I was lookin' in the trunk, the next minute I looked up and you and the impala are gift-wrapped in a giant snake".

Dean turned his head, "did it damage the impala?"

Sam shook his head with a wry smile. Only Dean could be lying on the floor, belly awash with blood, worrying about his car.

"No dude, she's fine!" Sam shuffled round to Dean's head, and slid his hands beneath his brother's shoulders.

"Can't feel my feet Sammy." Dean's eyes darted around, looking for his brother. Sam leaned over the top of Dean's head; "I'm here bro'!"

Dean looked up from his horizontal position at his brother's upside-down smiling face and floppy fringe.

"Get y'hair cut …" he muttered.

"I'm gonna lean you up, 'cos you need to drink something for me," Sam didn't give Dean time to argue and lifted his shoulders, shuffling his knees under them. He leaned forward so Dean's head was propped up against his chest, trying to ignore the pained moan that escaped his brother during the movement.

Sam unscrewed the top of the bottle and handed it to Dean, cringing as the foul, acrid smell assaulted his nostrils.

"Drink it dude" he coaxed, "Uh, down in one, I'd suggest!"

Dean took the small bottle in his hand, looking in disgust at the black syrupy liquid and snorted, his nose wrinkling comically. Sensing Dean's hesitation, Sam grasped the bottle too, and gently but firmly guided it towards Dean's mouth. Dean tried to recoil, but his head was pinned against the rock hard wall of Sam's chest.

"M'okay – don' need help," snapped Dean irritably. Sam reluctantly let go, but his hand hovered near the bottle.

Dean took a shuddering breath and lifted the bottle to his lips, gulping noisily and messily, small grunts escaping the back of his throat as he choked the foul liquid down trying to suppress his overwhelming urge to gag.

He dropped the empty bottle to the ground and went limp, coughing and gasping, his throat convulsing as he fought to keep the vile drink down. Sam's hovering hand moved to rub his chest, when suddenly Dean lurched to the side and vomited violently, his body convulsing as he retched and gagged the Lyndworm blood back out.

Sam sat by helplessly, rubbing Dean's heaving back in a desperate attempt to provide comfort; for whom, he wasn't sure.

By the time, the heaving subsided, Dean was spent; he sunk heavily back onto Sam's knees, gasping for air, shivering miserably, and soaked in his own sweat.

Sam was numb as he reached for his phone, shaky fingers dialled a familiar number.

xxxxx

"Sam?"

"Bobby," Sam's voice was shaking so hard, he could barely get the words out, "the Lyndworm, it got Dean, he can't drink the blood. I-I gave it to him, an' he's just sicked it all back up." He hesitated as he fought back rising tears, the words came hard; "Bobby, I don't know what to do …"

"Jeez Sam, I ain't never dealt with one of these before." There was a silent pause for thought, "I think Tom treated a Lyndworm bite a couple of years ago, I'm gonna call him and ask him what he knows; call ya straight back."

Sam clicked the phone shut, and looked down at his brother's pallid face; eyes closed, perspiration beading across his forehead. Sam's trembling hand returned to Dean's chest, gently rubbing; a soothing circular rhythm to bring comfort and reassurance.

"How ya doin' dude?" He was almost scared to ask.

"Good," Dean lied, "feel bit better."

"Liar," whispered Sam, his hand still tracing circles through the soaked material of his brother's T shirt.

"'cept can't feel my feet 'ny more."

Dean's eyes opened a crack and from his elevated position, he saw, for the first time, the Lyndworm's carcass. "C'n get y'self a Lyndworm skin laptop bag," he murmured, trying to bring humour to the situation.

Sam allowed himself a weak smile.

"an' matchin' shoes …" Dean added, barely more than a whisper.

Sam jolted as his phone rang.

"Sam," Bobby's voice was sharp, verging on panicked. "Tom's dealt with this before; you can't make him drink that stuff, it'll burn clean through his stomach." Sam's heart lurched as he heard Bobby's words, "The lore says it has to 'mingle with his blood under three moons." Bobby continued, "Tom interpreted that as it has to go directly into his bloodstream for three days."

Sam nodded silently, shaking so hard he could barely hold the phone as Bobby continued.

"It can't just be any Lyndworm blood; it has to be the blood of the one that bit him – hair of the dog, Sam."

Sam fought to hold back the tears.

"Listen Sam, Tom's on his way over to me, get your brother and a shitload of that thing's blood in the Impala and get your asses over here now."

"Ok Bobby, Sam croaked, looking down through the haze of tears at Dean laying helpless in his lap, "we're on our way."

"Sam, you need to be prepared." Bobby's voice was solemn, Sam could hear the pain just below the surface, "apart from what the venom will do to him, Tom says this stuff is a powerful hallucinogen; as bad trips go, this is the holiday of a lifetime. This ain't gonna be easy."

Sam heard the despair in Bobby's voice.

"For any of us."

Xxxxx

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 4

Xxxxx

"Here they are".

Bobby and Tom were waiting outside the house when the Impala pulled up. The look on Sam's face told the two men everything they needed to know.

They could see Dean curled up on his side across the front bench seat with his eyes closed and his head resting in Sam's lap. From the livid flush of his face, rapid panting breaths and the vomit stains on Sam's jeans, it was clear he was in bad straights.

Sam leaned out of the open window, the fear on his face was palpable; "He's burning up," he yelled, "he's so hot, and he's not talking sense; I think he's delirious".

Tom reached in and laid a palm across Dean's forehead. "Jesus" he muttered when he felt the heat radiating from the glistening face. "Dean" he called softly, "Dean, can you hear me."

The response was no more than a shaky moan. "S'my?" Glassy, unfocussed eyes stared up at Sam, closing as his brother's large hand reached down and gently stroked his cheek.

Tom looked at Sam and across at Bobby. "We need to get him in the house now."

Sam stared up at the two men from his position in the drivers seat, pinned under his barely conscious brother. "Please help him Tom," he pleaded, "he's real bad; he keeps saying he can't feel his legs."

xxxxx

Together the three men manoeuvred Dean out of the car allowing Sam to slip out from underneath him, and take his brother back into his arms; Tom noticed the stains on Sam's jeans.

"He was sick?"

"A couple of times, yeah," Sam replied; "that's why I put him in the front with me, I was afraid he'd choke." Sam looked down at Dean's head resting on his shoulder, he could feel the increasing damp heat radiating through Dean's T shirt, and hear his soft moans muffled against Sam's shoulder. "He's in such a lot of pain, please Tom, you gotta help him."

He looked back as Tom and Bobby followed him up the stairs, "I covered the bite up, like any bleeding wound, and I did what you said", he continued, "I lined the pad with the Lyndworm's blood, hopefully it's got a little bit in his system".

Another pained moan escaped his brother, "sorry dude" whispered Sam, gently laying Dean on top of the bed, taking time to stroke his damp hair back from his sweat slicked forehead. Tom nodded his approval, and lifted the T shirt to look at Sam's handiwork.

"We need to cool him down," Tom announced gravely, "Sam, help me get him undressed."

Bobby fussed and fretted, opening windows and plumping pillows, while Sam and Tom gently worked Dean out of his sodden T-shirt and jeans, a job made more difficult by the elder Winchester's fretful squirming; they both tried hard to keep the distressed hunter calm. Sam looked up at Bobby and was horrified to see tears pooling in the older man's eyes. Despite his own despair, he tried for a reassuring smile; "Hey Bobby, why don't you go and get us some water so we can cool him down?"

Sam watched Bobby go, then turned back to Dean, squeezing a clammy, hot shoulder, as Tom inserted a thermometer into his ear; Tom talked softly to his patient as he waited for the device to beep.

The beep confirmed news they suspected; Tom looked at the device; "crap, it's over 104." He rubbed a hand over Dean's drenched forehead, "OK son, hang in there" Tom reassured kindly, "we're gonna make you more comfortable now." Sam reached up and stroked his brother's clammy face.

Dean fidgeted miserably, turning to face Sam, "S'my, hur's" he whispered, leaning into Sam's touch.

Bobby re-entered the room with a bowl of water and some facecloths; "how is he?" he asked hopefully; face dropping as Sam and Tom stared forlornly back at him.

Without hesitation, Sam took the bowl and sat himself at Dean's shoulder, taking the cloth in hand, he stroked his brother's pain-tensed face. "Hey dude", gonna cool you down now". He wrung out the cloth, and lightly wiped it across the front of Dean's shoulders.

The three men jumped as Dean bucked wildly against the touch. "take it 'way," he moaned.

"What's wrong, bro' does it hurt?" Sam stopped, terrified as Dean fought weakly against his touch.

"Keep going" Tom looked across at Sam, "he's so hot, it probably feels uncomfortably cold, but you've got no choice, we've gotta get that temp down".

Reluctantly, Sam brought the cloth to bear again against his brother's face and neck, grimacing as Dean flinched under the cool touch. "Sorry bro', but you gotta trust us, this will make you feel so much better."

Bobby, took another cloth and sat at Dean's feet. He began to wash down his legs with the cool water.

Dean flailed and kicked weakly, "hur's, go 'way," he cried hoarsely.

Sam hesitated once again, but Tom nodded sternly; "carry on".

Sam watched as Tom undid the large pad of gauze that he had strapped tightly around Dean's midriff; taking a cloth, Tom used the cool water to wash away the crust of dried blood, both his own and the Lyndworm's that coated his abdomen.

Dean bucked and fought as Tom worked, crying out as he palpitated the wound. Sam cringed at the sound and clutched the top of Dean's shaking head, working long fingers through his damp hair. "Shhhhh, it's ok dude, Tom's just trying to help." He stroked and kneaded his brother's hot scalp.

Sam looked over and was shocked to see grey streaks radiating out across Dean's belly from the bite.

"What's that?" he looked at Tom with alarm.

"That's the venom working it's way out from the bite through his bloodstream." Tom traced the marks with his fingertip, looking up at Sam; "keep doing what you're doing, I think it's working, he seems to be calming down a bit."

Dean was indeed calmer, but suddenly, now he seemed too still and deathly quiet. Sam didn't like it; at least when Dean was moving around and protesting, Sam could tell he was alive. He placed his palm on Dean's chest to feel his weak and rapid heartbeat, watching the shuddering rise and fall of his brother's chest.

Tom spoke up and startled him. "just under 102; well done, temp's down, but we don't want it going up again – keep at it!"

Sam sat, absently rubbing the cool cloths over his brother's body, watching as Tom carefully but thoroughly examined Dean.

Eventually, Tom folded his stethoscope up and turned back to Sam.

"We need to start getting some of that thing's blood into him, did you manage to bring some?"

Sam nodded. "It's in the back of the car in a couple of big jars, I wasn't sure how much you wanted, so I just sliced through it's neck and drained what I could."

"I'll get it" came a voice from the end of the bed.

Bobby had been so quiet, working methodically on Dean's legs that Sam had almost forgotten he was there.

As Bobby disappeared, Sam looked up to Tom.

"Bobby said you've treated a Lyndworm bite before."

"Yes, that's right," Tom replied, "about two years ago."

"How did it go?"

Sam noticed Tom look away. The cheerful brown eyes that gave him such an honest and open disposition suddenly looked unusually shifty.

"Uh, well, the thing is Sam, he wasn't a young man. Not in the best of health and…"

"He died?" Sam saved Tom the trouble.

"Uh, yeah"

Tom saw the look of despair cross Sam's face, tears filling his eyes, as his hand moulded itself to the contours of his brother's face.

"How do we know this is gonna work?" he whispered.

"Honestly? We don't," Tom stated gently but directly, "this lore is all we have to go on". He looked at Sam intently, "but I am going to work like hell to fix your brother; I'm not gonna lose another one."

Both men looked down at their quiet patient. The fevered flush still very much in evidence across his face and chest, the rest of his shivering body a sickly grey pallor.

Bobby returned to the room, a jar of black sludge in his hand, Sam looked at it with revulsion; the memory of slicing the Lyndworm corpse open to bleed it fresh in his mind. He swallowed back a wave of nausea, closing his eyes, and managing to regain his composure until he opened them again and saw the size of the needle in Tom's hand.

"What the hell?" he asked.

"Yeah" Tom replied apologetically; "this stuff's like treacle – it would never move freely through a regular syringe; this is the biggest one I have. I'm going to inject it into the wound, straight into the point where the venom was injected".

Sam suddenly felt weak; he hated himself for it when Dean was suffering so badly, but Tom noticed it immediately. He held out a steadying hand, and sat Sam down on the other bed, "You ok?"

Sam nodded unconvincingly, and breathed deeply, still fighting a spinning nausea; it was Bobby that caught him as he sunk into a dead faint and toppled off the bed.

Xxxxx

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 5

Tough times make Bobby realise how much he loves his boys.

(just a teeny weeny update ... noticed a typo ... oopsy!)

xxxxx

Bobby's knees buckled as he took the dead weight of the younger Winchester; manhandling him gently back onto the bed, and glad for the distraction, he removed Sam's boots, fussing around making him comfortable. The boy was exhausted and needed to sleep. A blind man on a galloping horse could see that.

"Get some sleep, Sam," Bobby whispered, making a point of not looking across to the other bed.

Xxxxx

Dean's vision swam; bursting spots of light danced before his unfocussed, disorientated eyes against a backdrop of utter darkness.

He was aware of nothing except searing pain in his side; a burning, ripping pain that stole the breath from his lungs and made his head spin; tearing his stomach apart from the inside. He tried to curl up; to hide; to be small; to make the pain go away, but unseen hands restrained him.

An overwhelming nausea engulfed him as he stared down in horror through a haze of tears at his blood-smeared stomach; it was swelling and pulsating even as he watched; icy cold dread gripped his chest, turning his breaths into panting sobs.

His stomach was painfully, grotesquely distended; convulsing and moving; something was crawling around inside him. He was too terrified even to scream, watching in mesmerised revulsion as his belly shifted and stretched over the thing squirming and moving within it.

He retched violently, convulsing as his body acted instinctively to try to dislodge the alien presence within it, but now it was closer to the surface, outlines of a long, flexible body rippling beneath his skin; he clawed frantically at his swollen, undulating stomach, the crawling and scratching tormented him beyond endurance; faster and more aggressively it thrashed and scratched and tore at it's host's body.

Dean found his voice; just as the thing burst from his belly in a crimson spray. As the tiny Lyndworm clawed it's way out of the ragged, bloody remains of his belly, he screamed long and hard, until the cry trailed off into a breathless gurgle.

Xxxxx

Sam jolted awake, tumbling off of the bed on hearing the scream to see Tom and Bobby fighting to hold his thrashing brother down. Like a cornered animal, Dean plunged and writhed; howling incoherently, clawing and grasping at thin air over his stomach.

He scrambled over to the bed, pleading eyes looking up to Tom for guidance.

"This stuff is evil," panted Tom, his not insubstantial weight thrown across Dean's heaving shoulders. "It's a powerful and vicious hallucinogen; I don't know what he was just dreaming about, but it wasn't pleasant, whatever it was."

Sam grasped Dean's face, staring intently into the panic-glazed eyes; "Dean" he cried, "Dean, calm down man, please calm down …"

Eventually, Dean's frantic terrors subsided and he sunk bonelessly into the bed; soaked in his own sweat, shaking and gasping uncontrollably; Bobby slumped back down into the chair beside the bed, reaching across to soothe and comfort the stricken hunter.

As pale as a sheet, Bobby was shaking almost as much as Dean; when he turned to Sam, there was a look of utter shock and fear that Sam had never seen in the older man's eyes before.

Sam leaned over, stroking his brother's head, softly hushing and reassuring his brother and his eye scanned Dean's shivering body. It was then he noticed that Dean had wet himself.

He choked back tears; the sight of his big brother, so vulnerable, so helpless was more than he could bear. He took Dean's hand in his and pressed it against his face; "hang in there, dude," he whispered, "please, it's gonna be ok, I promise."

Sam glanced up at Tom; he knew Tom had seen what had happened; an unspoken agreement passed between the two men.

"Bobby, how about some coffee for us all?" Tom smiled at his old friend. "I think we can all use a caffeine kick." Bobby nodded, and heaved himself up out of the chair with a grunt. He hesitated, laying a hand over Dean's hot scalp and glancing across at Sam, before he looked back down to his precious boy, almost scared to break the physical contact.

"He'll be fine now;" Tom reassured, "I've got him." Bobby reluctantly relinquished his hold on Dean's head and slipped out of the room towards the kitchen.

"Sam, can you clean him up?" Tom spoke quietly and kindly; "I think he'd probably prefer you to do it." Sam smiled his silent gratitude; all he knew was that he had utter respect for this man right now.

As Tom checked Dean over, monitoring his temperature and rewrapping his wound, Sam gently and discreetly washed his brother, taking the opportunity to cool him down again on Tom's instruction; changing the bedlinen and changing Dean into fresh boxers, talking softly and soothingly to his brother the whole time. He watched with relief as a calm descended over Dean.

Dean's eyes remained closed, but his mouth worked constantly, whispering and murmuring barely audible words that made no sense. His head twitched from side to side as he huffed and sighed through whatever fretful, dream filled sleep had consumed him.

The three men stood back and drunk their coffee as they watched the elder Winchester rest, enjoying a short respite from the trials of the Lyndworm bite.

Xxxxx

Bobby took the nightshift.

He sat beside the bed, watching over the sleeping hunter as the other two men took some well earned rest on Tom's orders; as he had rightly pointed out, none of them were any good to Dean if they were out of their mind with exhaustion.

Behind him, Sam lay on the spare bed; sleep had not come easily to the younger man, but eventually he had slipped into a fitful rest. Tom sat on the other side of the room, in a ramshackle armchair, snoring loudly.

Bobby watched the elder Winchester sleep.

Through the darkness he saw Dean stir weakly with a sigh.

"Hey" whispered Bobby, "what's up son, thirsty?" He reached across, sliding his hand behind Dean's neck, lifting his head, to enable him to drink. To Bobby's delight, Dean drunk clumsily but enthusiastically; "you're wearin' more than you're drinkin', kid," he observed with a smile.

Dean's eyes fluttered open and gazed unseeing through the darkness up at Bobby.

Bobby rubbed a calloused hand over Dean's damp forehead. "You're a bit warm, son;" he whispered, reaching for the bowl of water Tom had left for him.

Dean continued to gaze upwards at the older man; eventually he spoke; his voice was barely a whisper.

"Mom …?"

Bobby looked down at Dean with a smile, "hey kid, I think you're a bit confused!"

Dean spoke again; quiet, absently; "m-mom ... hur's…"

Bobby closed his eyes when he felt tears pricking, "Hey kid," he whispered, stroking the warm, damp hair, "your Momma's with ya, she'll never leave ya."

Dean shifted on the bed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, and looked up absently at Bobby; after an age he spoke again; "Mom?"

Bobby gazed down at his boy; leaning over him, and thinking back to what the boys had told him years ago. He stroked the warm, clammy face with the back of his hand.

"Go to sleep son, the angels are watching over ya."

Xxxxx

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 6

Dean's trials continue, but is there a light at the end of the tunnel?

xxxxx

Dean's muffled breaths were all that punctuated an overpowering and unnerving silence.

He shifted uncomfortably with a soft moan. His head ached; no, check that – his whole body ached. He opened his eyes; or did he? There was no difference either way. Around him was darkness; crushing, soul-destroying darkness.

He squinted, trying to adjust his eyes, but there simply was no light for his eyes to adjust to. As well as the aching all over his body, there was pain again; the same terrible pain as when the Lyndworm had burst out of his stomach. That's a point; where was the freakin' crater that thing had left? He rubbed a hand over the flat, smooth planes of his abdomen; confusion overtook him.

God, such pain in his belly though. Was he sick? Was it his appendix? That's in that part of the world somewhere … what side was it on? Heck, he wished Sam was here. Sam knew all sorts of shit like that.

As he moved, he banged his elbow on something hard, he reached out to feel a flat upright just inches to his left. His breathing began to quicken as the pain across his stomach intensified like a white heat, making incandescent spots of colour flicker and sparkle before his eyes. With a pained grunt, he brought his knees up, trying to curl into a ball, but something hard above him blocked the movement.

Where was the light? Nowhere can be this black …

He began to squirm, trying to find somewhere away from the pain ripping across his belly, everywhere he moved, his limbs hit solid barriers within inches; he tried to sit up, and his head made heavy contact with a hard barrier above him.

He began to pant heavily; there was an increasing tightness in his chest that was making him breathless.

Then his heart stood still as the awful realisation dawned.

He was in a box. Not just any box; a coffin.

With the realisation; came the sting of bitter tears; terrified despair as claustrophobia took hold with a crushing grip.

He squirmed, moving frantically within the black confines of his tiny prison; Pummelling on the lid, only inches above his nose; his panting breaths turned into massive oxygen-wasting gasps as he cried out for help, the sound seeping into the solid ground around him; going nowhere.

Panic consumed him and his squirming turned into fullscale thrashing, he hammered on the walls and lid of the coffin; his knuckles and fingernails grazing and tearing against the wood. His wide open mouth gaping for what precious dregs of air remained. He tried to scream, but his lungs were so empty and constricted, all he could manage was a hoarse squeak.

His heart pounded in his burning chest, for once the pain in his belly was forgotten. Frantic hands scrabbled at the lid, as the walls closed in on him; down and down, tighter and tighter; he felt his head begin to swim … "not like this; oh God, please, not like this …" his gasps became more and more rapid and shallow, racking sobs shaking his body as his movements became weaker and more spasmodic; chest burning, he gulped the last vestiges of oxygen in the tiny box, as his mouth yawned his final desperate breath.

xxxxx

Sam crouched over the bed trying to comfort his delirious brother. Dean's arms flailed, grasping and reaching for something; Sam knew not what. Whispering soothing nonsense, he held Dean down as he bucked and lashed, glassy, fear-glazed eyes staring straight through his brother to an unfocussed spot somewhere in the distance.

Once again, the fit subsided, and Sam bit back tears as he gently stroked a large flat palm across Dean's sweat soaked forehead. "Hey dude, s'alright, you're safe, all fine now …"

"Hold him still." Sam glanced up on hearing Tom's voice, and his stomach lurched as he saw the massive syringe containing the Lyndworm blood in the Doctor's rock steady hand.

Swallowing weakly, Sam turned away just in time to miss Tom sliding the needle deeply into the angry wound on his brother's side. He heard Dean yelp and felt the flinch, for once glad that Dean was too spent after his latest nightmare to put up too much of a struggle.

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder; he looked up to see Bobby's face smiling at him.

"Coffee for ya;" Bobby placed a mug on the bedside table; and bent to pick up the old damp facecloths they had been using to cool Dean's fever overnight, replacing them with fresh.

Sam watched his brother breathe, watching the strained rise and fall of his chest; he watched his face tense and relax with the pain. He looked anywhere he could except the spot where Tom was working with admirable precision.

Eventually Tom withdrew the needle. He put the empty syringe down on a metal tray behind him and pressed a pad of gauze to the wound.

Sam watched him dabbing the wound; his eyes scanning his brother's pallid abdomen, studying the grey tendrils of poison which spread out from the wound across his belly like frost on a window pane.

xxxxx

"Well, that's it." Tom gave a deep sigh, "that's all the Lyndworm blood I can give him". He turned to Sam; "It's down to him now".

Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder; "you hear that boy?" he whispered, "you gonna show us that pig-headed stubbornness that you love to piss us all off with, and beat this thing?"

"To be honest," Tom continued, looking at both men, as he gently cleaned the inflamed wound; "I'm amazed he's made it this far".

Sam glanced up. "How so?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure anyone else's heart would have given out with the trauma of the nightmares, the fever, the sickness; everything he's been through over the last three days." He looked at his patient in awed wonder, shaking his head. "No wonder my last Lyndworm bite didn't make it; I only just got the first shot of the stuff into him before he kicked it".

He looked up at Sam with genuine admiration in his brown eyes.

"Your brother is, without doubt, the strongest man I have ever come across."

He went to work with the stethoscope; brow furrowing in concentration as he listened to Dean's gradually slowing heartbeat and his shuddering breaths. He placed the back of his hand across Dean's forehead. "Fancy cooling him off a little for me?"

Sam and Bobby nodded in unison; each taking one of the fresh facecloth, dampening them in the various bowls of water that had been gradually accumulating around the room. Sam sat at Dean's shoulder, and Bobby stationed himself at his by now familiar spot at Dean's feet. Together they went to work; wiping the cooling cloths over Dean''s burning, sweat-soaked skin. Dean's brow knitted and he murmured breathlessly, shifting and squirming uncomfortably under the cold touch. Sam smiled, "stop bein' such a baby, jerk!"

Together the two men worked until Dean looked a lot less flushed and a lot more comfortable.

Tom checked his temperature and gave a satisfied nod; "much better guys; leave him be now; let him rest."

Xxxxx

Now that there was no more medicine to give, all they could do was wait; wait and see what would happen. For want of anything else to do, Sam sat at Dean's head and talked. He talked about the Impala, he talked about their best hunts, and he talked about Bobby's dress sense, earning himself a clip round the back of the head. For what seemed like hours, he talked.

Bobby and Tom had left the brothers alone, slipping out of the room to give them some privacy. Every so often, either Bobby or Tom would peer round the door checking that one or both of the boys were OK; keeping Sam plied with coffee and sandwiches.

Sam stroked Dean's head, carding his long fingers through the damp spiky hair at his brother's crown; he gathered his brother in his arms from time to time to enable him to drink the fruit juice that Tom had left and on occasion when Dean's peace was broken by restless fits of shivering or nightmares, he was there; cooling his brother off, or holding him close; making it better.

In his continuing desperation to do something constructive, Sam decided to give Dean a shave. It had been four days since the encounter with the Lyndworm and Dean was sporting an impressive growth of dark stubble across his parchment-grey face.

He was halfway through the exercise when Bobby walked back into the room with another coffee; stopping abruptly and staring in amusement at Dean's foam smeared, half shaven face.

Sam looked up at the older man; "Dean's gonna be pissed if he comes to lookin' like he's been dragged through a hedge."

Bobby shook his head and grinned; "you're not wrong there kid; your brother's looks are his most deadly weapon; at least that's what he thinks!" Sam smiled, "Oh yeah, he takes his looks very seriously; my brother!" Continuing his task, he gently rinsed Dean's clean shaven face and patted it dry, finishing off with a splash of Dean's favourite aftershave lotion.

"There y'go, dude;" Sam smiled, inhaling deeply of his brother's scent; "gorgeous … I could almost fancy you myself!"

He turned to rinse the razor and brush in the bowl beside him, when he heard a faint whisper from the bed.

"don' swing tha' way …"

xxxxx

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 7

There's a lot of relief in the Singer household as Dean appears to be on the mend.

xxxxx

"Dean?"

Sam whipped round, dropping the razor into the bowl; his heart swelled to bursting as he crouched down beside the bed; "Dean … hey man, talk to me."

Dean blinked slowly, lifting his face towards his brother. "S'mmy?" His voice little more than a croak.

"Oh God," Sam' rubbed a hand over his face, biting back tears as excitement and relief swelled in his chest; "Dean, thank God!"

He grasped Dean's clammy, trembling hand; "how'd ya feel, dude?"

"Like I been run over by a freigh' train …" Dean swallowed hard, shivering slightly.

Sam climbed onto the bed to sit beside his brother. Gathering him up, he propped Dean against his shoulder, hesitating as he groaned quietly at the movement. "Sshhhh, dude, you're okay … you're okay …" He whispered reassuringly, hugging his brother as tightly as he dared, "C'mon man, have a drink."

He held the glass of juice to Dean's lips and smiled as his brother drank greedily.

Unable to contain himself any longer; he yelled at top of his voice, "BOBBY ... TOM …" regretting it instantly as Dean flinched in his arms, spilling orange juice into his lap.

"Sorry, dude!" Sam smiled sheepishly as he thumbed orange droplets from Dean's chin.

Within seconds, two figures thundered into the bedroom, blind panic etched across their faces.

"Look who's awake!" Sam grinned, unable to disguise the overwhelming relief in his voice.

"S'is real?" Dean looked up into his brother's face; weakly clutching a fistful of Sam's T-shirt; his glassy eyes betrayed his devastating, bone crushing exhaustion. Sam grasped Dean's clammy hand, "Yeah dude, no more dreams; it's all real. That's all me."

Bobby stood stunned into silence; smiling broadly as tears glistened in his eyes. "Jeez, boy, you've no clue how glad I am to see ya better."

xxxxx

Tom crouched down beside Dean, "How ya feelin' Dean?" he asked softly, resting a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder.

Confusion blanked Dean's hollow-eyed face. "Hurtin'," he whispered, looking at the doctor.

Tom squeezed his shoulder, "Where Dean, where does it hurt?"

Dean leaned heavier against Sam, struggling to keep his eyes open; "ev'rywhere; stomach mos'ly."

"That'll be the wound where the thing originally bit you" Tom spoke softly to his patient, "I had to keep the wound open so that I could administer the medicine;" he patted the young hunter's shoulder. "I'm afraid it's gonna smart for a while."

Dean glanced up at Sam.

"Trust me," smiled Sam; "you don't wanna know."

"Apparently, I don't wanna know …" Dean repeated hesitantly for Tom's benefit.

"Nah, probably for the best!" smiled Tom, shaking his head.

xxxxx

Sam continued to hold Dean tightly, watching his brother blinking woozily, biting his lip against his pain as he traced a fingertip along one of the grey streaks across his pale stomach.

He hesitated, clearly deep in thought before glancing up at Sam, "You been drawin' on me?"

Sam looked up at Bobby with a chuckle; "Uh, we've kinda been a bit busy for that sort of thing, haven't we?" Bobby nodded his head in agreement; the broad smile still plastered across his face.

"Good; 'cos my belly's jus' fine just the way it is, don't need no decoration!" Dean tried to laugh, but sucked in a sharp breath instead.

Tom smiled kindly, "those marks are where the poison has spread out from the bite."

Dean's nose wrinkled in disgust. "Ew!" He drew a hand over the grey marks as if he were trying to rub them out. "S'my; my life ain't improved for knowing that."

"They'll fade as the venom leaves your system" Tom reassured, "but you gotta rest Dean. You ain't out of the woods yet – not by a long shot."

Sam stroked Dean's head as he looked across at Tom; "I'll make sure he looks after himself."

"Do I get a say?" Dean snorted, "all you lot fussin' and frettin' aroun' me ain't gonna be good for my nerv ... GAAAAH!"

Even Sam jumped at Dean's yelp when Tom, crouched at the end of the bed, pinched him sharply on the big toe.

"Hey, Doctor Crippen" snorted Dean, "what was that freakin' for?"

"When you first got here, Dean, you were saying you couldn't feel your legs and feet. I take it you felt that!"

"Uh, yeah!" Dean looked warily at the Doctor.

"That's fantastic." Tom smiled.

Dean turned to Sam, not taking his eyes off the Doctor, "Sammy, get him to come up this end of the bed where we can keep an eye on him – I wanna see where his hands are goin' next."

Tom tried and failed to stifle a laugh. "You won't be seeing anything," he said firmly, "because you are going to sleep."

"'m not tired …" Dean slurred through a massive yawn.

"Sure you're not, bro'," Sam grinned, hooking an arm across the back of Dean's neck and gently laying him down.

"B-but I wanna …" Dean's eyes flickered and slowly drooped closed; his body went limp as sleep overtook him.

"Wow," said Bobby with a grin, lifting his cap to scratch his head; "how does anyone go to sleep that quickly?"

Tom looked at his watch as he held Dean's wrist, checking his pulse; when he was satisfied, he turned to Bobby. "Easily; if they're wrecked and exhausted enough!"

He pulled the blankets up over Dean and turned to Sam, "and on the subject, a good few hours shut-eye wouldn't do you any harm either." Sam looked down at his sleeping brother and up at Tom. "I'm not getting a choice here, am I?"

"Nope!" said Tom, pointing his thumb at the other bed.

Bobby patted the younger man on the back; "You've done good, kid. Get some sleep."

Sam nodded and sat on the side of the bed, tugging his shirt off over his head.

Xxxxx

Tom and Bobby strolled slowly down the stairs.

"The kid won't stay there" smiled Tom, "we'll go up there in a while and find his ass parked beside Dean, won't we?"

"They can't help it," Bobby stopped on the stairs and turned to his old friend, "the life those boys have had; it would just break your heart." He pondered silently for a while, looking down at his feet.

"I once turned a shotgun on their Daddy;" He shook his head with a smile, "the way he treated those boys. I just couldn't bear it; he didn't mean them any harm, but he was so wrapped up in his own purpose, he may as well have not been there."

He continued with a sigh, "He never let them know how much they meant to him until the day he died; by then it was too late. You've only got to look at Dean to see the damage was done. That boy never had a moment's childhood; not a hug or a kind word a from the day his mother died."

Tom looked at Bobby and smiled, patting him on the shoulder; "they're lucky they've got you, buddy; although I must say, I never had you pegged as such a soft touch!"

Bobby snorted with laughter. "Normally I'm anythin' but; but I don't mind to admit it, those boys, they're like my own – I'd shift heaven and earth for them!"

Bobby continued, warming to his theme; "an' that's exactly why you're gonna find Sam sittin' with his brother; they stick together, through thick and thin. Nothin's ever straight forward or easy for those boys, and Sam'll be frettin' that it can't be this simple. Dean's just gonna get better and then carry on as normal? It jus' don't happen like that for those kids".

"It's rubbin' off on me Tom", Bobby sighed, "I won't be happy until I see that boy up an' about and you give him a clean bill of health."

Tom smiled, "I hope I can do that sometime soon too!"

"I can't shake the feelin' that somethin's gonna kick 'em in the gut before they can put this behind them." Bobby added quietly.

Tom reassured his oppo with a chuckle. "Come on you miserable old bastard; time for a beer!"

The two men laughed together and disappeared into the kitchen.

xxxxx

Bobby crept upstairs to check on the boys later that evening; sure enough, Sam was slumped in the chair beside the bed, arms folded on the mattress against Dean's shoulder. His head rested on his forearms, nestled into the crook of his sleeping brother's neck.

Tip-toeing into the room, Bobby pulled the blanket off the other bed, silently draping it over Sam's shoulders. He shook his head with a smile and closed the door behind him.

xxxxx

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 8

Sometimes it's the simplest things that keep the boys together …

xxxxx

Darkness.

Darkness and silence.

A creeping sense of dread rose within him as Dean suddenly became aware he was struggling to breathe. He tried to gulp in precious mouthfuls of air, but something was obstructing his nose and mouth;

He gagged around the obstruction; heck, what was that? Rope? Fur?

He gasped as his chest began to ache, heart pounding. 'No, no … I'm getting better … not another nightmare, please…' Tears began to sting as he swallowed back a quiet sob; 'no, this was so not fair …'

Why the hell did he have a mouthful of fur? Something was pressing heavily on him; smothering him - what was it? A werewolf? Black dog? A freakin' bear?

His eyes snapped open, focussing slowly through the moonlit darkness and as the fog of sleep receded, it gradually became clear; he had been sleeping with his face smooshed hard against the top of his brother's shaggy head.

Squirming away from the unruly mop, he rolled onto his back trying not to disturb his sleeping brother. He picked at stray hairs that clung to his lips and nose "get a friggin' haircut, Sammy", he whispered under his breath, quietly chuckling at his own panic, chest expanding deeply as he pulled in a beautiful, life-giving, calming breath.

xxxxx

Dean laid back and closed his eyes, soothed by the soft huff of his brother's breathing.

The familiar and comforting smell of Bobby's yard; of oil, rust and rubber tyres wafted through the room riding on a cool breeze from the open window which ghosted across his face and shoulders. He shifted slightly under the blankets, groaning as the movement aggravated the throbbing ache which racked his body. Sam shifted at the sound and Dean froze, holding his breath in silence until he was sure Sam was still sleeping, undisturbed.

And now, he needed a pee. Just fan-frickin'-tastic.

He didn't want to dwell too much on how this particular little issue might have been addressed during the past few days when he was floating around in downtown nightmare central, but now he was in control, and HE was damn well going to deal with it.

He stared through the darkness at the ceiling and considered his options; he could ask Sammy for help. Sammy would help, of course, without hesitation; but he was exhausted and Dean decided there was no way he was going to wake him. Eventually, he sighed, angrily scolding himself; 'pull yourself together you freakin' girl; a quick walk along the landing to the bathroom, how hard can it be?'

Shakily, he pulled the blankets back and swung weak and wobbly legs over the side of the bed, reassuring himself how it shouldn't be too much of a problem since doctor psycho proved that his legs were working again. He lay on his side for a moment, panting weakly and relishing the feeling of his feet on the floor, before tackling the next challenge of sitting up unaided.

Clutching a protective arm over his sore midriff, he managed to ease himself into a sitting position, regretting it immediately as the room spun wildly, taking his stomach along for the ride.

He swallowed back the resulting nausea, scanning the room for a trashcan or some similar receptacle within easy reach; closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he clung to the bed while his feeble and exhausted body accustomed itself to being vertical once more.

xxxxx

"Y'ok dude?" A soft voice behind him.

He grimaced on hearing Sam's voice and inwardly cursed himself for making such a meal of sitting up that he had woken his brother. "'M good Sammy, go back to sleep!" he murmured, "jus' need to take a leak."

He felt a hand on his back; "you won't make it on your own, you're not strong enough."

"'M ok, jus' bit dizzy."

Sam leaned over watching Dean as he sat hunched over the side of the bed clutching his head, swallowing spasmodically. "You okay man; you gonna puke?" he asked quietly, reaching for the trashcan.

The response was a silent and barely perceptible shake of the head.

Dean sighed on hearing the chair creak as Sam stood up; "c'mon man, let's go". He felt a hand on his back and looked up regretfully at his brother.

"Sorry dude, guess that freakin' lizard thing took more out of me than I thought."

Sam hooked an arm across his brother's back and hoisted Dean's not insubstantial weight into a standing position with a strained grunt. Dean leaned heavily on his brother's solid presence as they inched their way down the landing, pausing briefly outside the door to Bobby's room to listen to the impressive snores emanating from within.

"Sounds like our last troll hunt" whispered Sam with a grin.

xxxxx

As they reached the bathroom door Dean turned to his brother, trying to wriggle free of the iron grip; "I got it from here, dude; 'm not so wrecked that I need you to hold ev'rythin' up." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it again when he realised he had to give Dean the chance to preserve what little dignity he had left.

"Okay" Sam whispered, carefully letting go of his brother, "but, take it easy – sit down."

"Bite me"

"Something already did, and that didn't turn out so well!" Sam hissed around the bathroom door.

"Shut up - you'll wake the king of the trolls," Dean whispered back over his shoulder, swaying precariously as he slowly inched his way into the bathroom, gripping the walls and the cistern.

Sam watched him from the landing.

"close the friggin' door," Dean huffed petulantly.

"Okay" Sam sighed, pulling the door closed, "but I'm staying right here." he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes to wait while Dean took care of business.

xxxxx

"m'done," the voice was barely audible from behind the bathroom door.

"need a hand dude?" Sam instantly regretted his choice of phrase.

"Yeah, but not yours …" came the croaked response.

The door slowly opened, and Dean stood before him leaning heavily on the doorframe, strengthless legs slowly buckling as he clung weakly to the wall. Sam couldn't help but smile at the sight; "c'mon dude, let's get you back to bed", he grinned, still high on the joy of having a recovering brother.

He threaded his long arm around Dean's back once again, and pulled the boneless body close into him. Together they stumbled back along the landing to the bedroom, tiptoeing past the darkness of Bobby's room. "I feel like billy goats gruff ..." Sam whispered, looking down at his brother, his face buried into Sam's shoulder. Sam smiled, the man was almost asleep standing up.

xxxxx

On reaching the bedroom, Sam juggled his limp burden to free up a hand and pushed the bedroom door. He needed to get Dean back to bed, he was getting cold.

As the door swung open, Sam stopped abruptly in his tracks; his hunters instinct tingling wildly. He pulled Dean's barely conscious form closer and tighter into his side.

Something was so very badly wrong.

Xxxxx

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 9

Something bad is lurking, waiting for the brothers. But all is not always as it seems ...

xxxxx

Standing in the doorway, Sam squinted through the darkness, his arm instinctively tightening round his brother's chest, pulling him closer, feeling Dean flinch as the motion pulled on his wound. He slowly shuffled sideways so that he was standing partly in front of Dean, his body forming a barrier between Dean and whatever was in that room.

"S'matter S'my?" Dean's strengthless voice whispered over his brother's shoulder.

"Shh;" Sam scanned the room, his hackles rising as his sense of unease deepened.

The room, although dark, was well lit by moonlight which threw a hazy grey glow across the two unkempt beds, the glass of water on Dean's bedside table, the chair where Sam had spent most of the night. Both brothers watched silently, staring intently into the room, flinching as the curtain fluttered at the open window.

"Sammy, whas'matter?" Dean asked again; Sam's unease seemed to have woken him a little, the voice sounded more alert; and he seemed to be standing under some of his own steam again.

"I think there's something in the room," Sam whispered cautiously.

"What?"

"Don't know – but it can't be good."

Sam's eyes darted around the room; he could swear he saw something moving in his peripheral vision, something that was there, but wasn't; and the smell - sure, the smell of Bobby's yard was something they were used to; it seeped into their bones and skin, they came away from Bobby's house smelling of wrecked vehicles, but this was different; there was something else in the mix, something sour, salty; something very, very wrong.

He briefly turned to Dean, "you ok bro'?" Dean stared straight past him with eyes wide as saucers, and nodded silently and slowly; "Sam," he whispered; "look at the windowsill…"

They both squinted through the darkness at the windowsill; there was a dark, wet smear across it, which continued down the wall most of the way the floor.

Then they saw it. On the floor, just in front of the closest bed, about three yards in front of them; a narrow, coiled shadow.

Of nothing.

Xxxxx

Sam gasped and abruptly slammed the door shut, staggering backwards tugging Dean with him as the door clattered loudly under the weight of a heavy blow which slammed against it from the other side.

They stumbled back across the landing away from the pounding door and burst into Bobby's room. "Bobby!" Sam yelled, switching on the light and decanting his brother down heavily on the end of the bed across the shocked older man's feet.

Bobby scrambled out from under his quilt, a dishevelled figure in a vest which appeared to be held together by coffee stains. He covered his eyes, blinking blearily through the light; "what the hell ...?" he squinted at Dean, half sitting, half sprawled on the bed, and up at Sam; he was too close to the edge of sleep to be able to formulate the words.

"It's a Lyndworm," Sam gasped; "yeah, an' it's in our friggin' room," Dean added hoarsely.

Bobby tugged his feet out from under Dean's sprawled legs, and stared through sagging sleep-muzzed eyes at the brothers as if they were mad; "W-what?"

"A Lyndworm, in our room Bobby;" Sam scraped an agitated hand across his face, "we gotta deal with it before it gets out," he shouted over the increasingly furious clattering.

The crashing against the rattling door was continuous – it was clear the door wasn't going to stand up to much more punishment.

"But Sam, those things are friggin' enormous, it couldn't possibly get into the house."

"This one isn't, it looks pretty small compared to the other one we wasted," muttered Dean. "Yeah, but it still sounds like a vicious sonofabitch; listen to that," Sam tilted his head urgently towards the furious clattering at the door across the landing.

A head suddenly appeared round the door. It was Tom; "hey, what the hell's going on – what's that noise?" He looked down at Dean sitting, heavy eyed and shivering on the bed.

"We think we've got a Lyndworm problem;" Bobby looked up at his old friend.

"Shit!"

Bobby turned to Sam, "Sam, get Dean down into the panic room; I'll deal with our reptile problem."

"No Bobby, I'll …"

Tom cut him off, "Sam, we can't risk Dean - he's not strong enough to fight it off or, God forbid, take another bite - now get your ass down there and take ya brother out of harm's way."

"I'll be ok, I don' need …" Dean began irritably. "Move it," yelled Bobby.

Sam nodded sharply as Bobby clambered out of bed and reached clumsily for a pair of pants.

"C'mon bro", Sam offered his hands to Dean, "let's get you safe."

"Hate this," snarked Dean; standing up on shaky legs, and gripping Sam's arms as they made their way to the top of the stairs. When they reached the top step, Dean hesitated, swaying slghtly; "dizzy," he grunted, trying not to look down the staircase.

Sam realised he was going to have to pick his brother up and carry him down the stairs – there was no time for dignity or pride; Dean could punch him for it when he had his strength back; but that was a moot point if that thing in the room managed to get hold of them, as he bent down to hoist Dean over his shoulder, there was a cracking smash as the door exploded outwards.

Sam turned abruptly, losing his footing in the process, and Dean watched in horror was his brother tumbled backwards down the stairs.

"S'MMY!" he cried out, reaching out forlornly to his brother's flailing hands as he fell; not noticing the sinuous bodies which burst with liquid swiftness from the room, and Dean suddenly found himself crouching and pinned into the corner by not one, but two flickering, indistinct forms looming over him; they appeared to be around as long as he was tall, their bodies about the thickness of his bicep, the sour odour of their clammy scales and toxic breath overwhelming him. Behind them he could see Bobby and Tom watching, paralysed in horror from the bedroom door.

Dean stared, breathless with dread at four glittering amber eyes which swayed hypnotically in front of him; he cursed the fact that his legs were too weak for him to try to stand, to get away, to help his brother; he was trapped helplessly against the wall, and glancing down the stairs, he saw Sam was clearly hurt.

"S'mmy" he whispered, "y-you ok?"

"…think I broke my arm," came the dazed response from the bottom of the stairs.

xxxxx

The two fluid forms edged closer to him, their mottling, blurring outlines teasing his vision, making him feel giddy and sick. Closer and closer they advanced, as he shrank further back away from them, cowering into the corner until he could feel their warm clammy scales against his skin, and feel their flickering forked tongues exploring his face.

He could see Bobby edging toward him, a knife in his hand.

"Bobby, NO!" he hissed, as one of the creatures turned and lunged towards the older man with a violent hiss sending Bobby stumbling backwards. "You can't take them both."

Casting his eyes to the side, Dean could see Sam edging up the stairs on his knees, left arm tucked protectively into his side. A vivid purple bruise was blossoming across his cheekbone.

"Sam, NO!" barked Dean, "keep back".

One of the creatures pressed it's head against his shoulder, it's sinuous form worming bonelessly around the crook of his neck; Dean's breathing hitched as he heard it's hiss and felt it's tongue flickering against his ear, he cringed and closed his eyes, expecting the worst.

The two slithering bodies enfolded him, as he curled up, burrowing into the corner; he gritted his teeth, gagging with revulsion as their forked tongues explored every inch of his face.

For the longest time, no-one dared to breathe; helpless in the face of these two lightening-quick predators; scared to move in case it resulted in another bite which they all knew would spell the end for Dean.

Then Tom broke the silence.

"Oh my God."

Bobby turned to him, "what?"

"They're her young."

Dean squinted desperately at Bobby and Tom from within the knotted slithering mass of reptilian bodies. "What?" he croaked.

"Think about it," Tom continued breathlessly, "most hunters go their entire lives without seeing one of these things. You've just wasted one and now you've got two potted versions on your ass." He turned to Bobby, "That's no co-incidence."

"Get to the point," gasped Dean, squirming under the onslaught to try to catch a glance at Sam who was still crouching awkwardly halfway up the stairs, his horror-stricken eyes fixed unblinking on Dean.

"So, are you saying these two are out to get revenge on their mother's killers?" Bobby couldn't keep the fear out of his voice.

"No," Tom said "look at them, they're not trying to harm him - they're not strong enough; they're trying to stay close to him."

He looked at Bobby's puzzled stare; "I've heard of this in infant animals before - I wouldn't mind betting they're newly hatched."

"Bobby, they've imprinted on him" He continued;

"They think he's their mother".

xxxxx

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 10

Dean's little family show their love …

Xxxxx

There was a brief silence as Tom's words sunk in.

It was Dean that spoke up first. "what the f…?" Sam had to concede that he sounded more alert than he had done at any time over the last few days; that had to be a good thing, hadn't it?

"I can't be their friggin' mother!" he spluttered in incoherent outrage, manoeuvring his arm clumsily through the undulating coils with a pained wince and gesticulating wildly to the assembled men.

"Well, think about it," replied Tom calmly, "their mother injected a shitload of her venom into you; I've just spent the last three days shooting you up with her blood. You probably smell exactly like their mother."

"Oh thanks," snorted Dean sourly. He glanced down the stairs to see Sam wincing as he stifled a snigger; he couldn't believe it. His brother - his so-called devoted little brother, the little snot who was supposed to care so much for his big brother - was laughing at him!

Tom continued; "Sam said he loaded jars of the mother's blood in the back of the Impala before you left; I'm willing to bet they smelt that and hitched a lift; maybe in the trunk, and of course, you wouldn't have seen them;" he looked at the flickering, slithering shapes that mottled and blurred as they writhed and coiled smoothly over Dean's grey T shirt, his black boxers and his bare legs; "they're practically invisible!"

Dean's weary green eyes were so wide, there seemed to be a very real danger that they might fall out of his face.

"No!" he snorted, glaring up at Tom, wriggling weakly as he tried unsuccessfully to worm his way out of the loving coils of his brood, "you don' get it, Doctor Doolittle; I can't be their mother 'cos I'm a friggin' dude! I'm not exactly lactating at the moment …"

Bobby and Tom grimaced in unison at the image.

Recovering his thought processes, Tom continued; "that doesn't matter to them," he explained, "you're something warm with a heartbeat and you smell of their mother. That's all they need; that's all any newborn needs." he continued, "anyway, they're reptiles, they don't need milk; they need someone tear up their prey and chew it up a bit so it's soft enough for them to eat."

Sam's voice drifted up from the staircase, "I thought reptiles just laid their eggs then cleared off and left them to it?"

Tom warmed to his theme, "most do; you're right Sam, but some species are very attentive mothers; crocodiles and alligators for example."

"Oh, well, there you go – I never knew that."

xxxxx

Dean's head swivelled between the exchange, his face sporting an expression of outraged disbelief; "Excuse me David freakin' Attenborough" he snapped, "while this biology lesson is very interesting an' all that, shouldn't we be thinking of a way to get these freakin' things away from me so we can gank 'em?"

He yelped sharply as a head disappeared up the front of his T shirt; "jeez S-AH-AH-AAM, their freakin' tongues are going places I - GAAAH - don't wanna even think about!"

Bobby had been spending the last couple of minutes trying his best not to laugh, he eventually composed himself enough to speak up. "Well, that's not so easy, see," he rubbed his beard thoughtfully, "you're Mommy, so you're untouchable, but us; we're fair game, so they won't think twice about nippin' any of us."

"You're freakin lovin'this … a-aaah-AAAH-ren't you?" Dean scowled, wincing and gyrating furiously as the creatures slithered and writhed over and around his body; he clutched his side as the gymnastics aggravated the barely healing wound that their real mother had put there.

Tom continued, a picture of cool professionalism; "I don't know if their venom is powerful enough to kill yet, but I wouldn't want any of us to be put in a position to find out!"

He glanced at Bobby, "that said, I need to get past them so I can get a look at Sam's arm".

Squirming frantically, Dean wrestled with the coils, trying to pull and push them away; "gerrof" he squealed between clenched teeth as the one of the creatures continued it's enthusiastic exploration of the undiscovered country inside his T-shirt.

He squinted down the stairs at his giggling brother. "You are so … UUURGH … gonna get AAAAGH … pastin' for this when you're fixed, you bitch," he growled; finding it difficult to sound menacing between the gasps and giggles which were escaping his twitching body as the two mini-Lyndworms continued their irritating embrace.

Despite everything, however, he knew he had to let Tom get a look at his injured brother as soon as possible, and he couldn't risk him being bitten by the creatures. He knew he had to get them out of the way.

He cursed his weak legs; after the trials of the last few days, they were barely strong enough to support his own weight. With the additional weight of the two Lyndworm hatchlings, he had no chance of getting upright. Dear God; where was that friggin' thing going now …? But Sam needed attention, so dignity would have to go and hang itself. He shuffled around until he was on his hands and knees, the two creatures coiled contentedly around his chest like a flotation hoop, one with it's head resting on his shoulder, the other's head still moving around under his shirt, it's flickering, forked tongue against his skin driving him to distraction.

He slowly and shakily crawled in the direction of Bobby's room, "get out the way," he croaked, scowling at the two men, as Tom and Bobby skipped away from him allowing him a clear path through.

Tom sidled round him and headed down the stairs towards Sam. Dean breathed a sigh of relief knowing that Sam was now getting the treatment he needed.

Still standing at a safe distance, Bobby turned to Dean, now collapsed in a heap on his bedroom floor; "You ok kid?"

Dean looked up at him, "yeah, these two aren't gonna bite me or poison me; they're just gonna molest me to death instead." He swatted one of the curious creatures away from his face, then squirmed jerkily as it's sibling went wandering again, " HA-HA-HA … aaand they ain't even bought me dinner first!"

Bobby grinned; "not fer much longer, I've got an iron knife in the barn; I'll go an' grab it for ya." He smiled down at the elder Winchester together with his passengers as he knelt on the floor, listing wearily to starboard.

"OK Bobby, thanks!" Dean called over his shoulder as he looked down at the creatures and shrugged; "Sorry guys."

He took a deep breath, as he began to try to release himself.

He reached up under his T-shirt and with great determination dragged the creature, which seemed to have made itself quite comfortable under there, out; "c'mon you irritatin' little jerk" he snorted, "only certain people get the right to spend any quality time in there – and you ain't one of 'em, creepy!"

Without much experience of handling snakes or lizards Dean had no idea how unco-operative they could be. He pushed, tugged, lifted, twisted, wriggled and stretched to the point of exhaustion, eventually succeeding in extricating the long sinuous body from under his shirt. He held the head end of the body up on outstretched arms in triumph, only to find it's tail end had knotted his ankles together.

"sonofabitch!"

Xxxxx

Just minutes later, Bobby thundered back up the stairs two at a time, a fearsome looking iron knife in his hand, followed by Tom and a freshly slinged Sam; "how ya doin' dude?" Sam asked in obvious concern.

Dean sat on the floor, the creatures coiled peacefully in a messy, carpet-coloured heap beside him, and looked up at Sam, "Yeah, good dude; how's the arm?"

"Sore, but I'll live." Sam answered the question smartly and without detail; he was distracted by the hollow look in his brother's heavy-lidded green eyes. If he didn't know better, he would have described the look as utter, abject sadness.

Sam wasn't the only one that noticed it.

Bobby dropped heavily to his knees; his face paling rapidly. "They didn't … bite ya?"

Sam's hand raised instinctively to his mouth to stifle a gasp; he shook his head in terrified denial.

Dean shook his head, "nah, they didn't bite me; they did this." He lifted the hem of his T-shirt so that the three assembled men could see his stomach. Where, up until a couple of hours ago, had been an ugly, swollen welt, unbearably painful to the touch and staining his belly with the dark shadow of poison, was smooth, unmarked healthy skin.

I could feel the little sonsofbitches roamin' around down there, an' it's only when I was pullin' 'em off, that I realised, it didn't hurt any more." He looked up at the three stunned men, "an' when I had a look – well, you can see for yourself, it's like it was never hurt; not even a scar."

Tom dropped to his knees, and pressed on the point at which the bite that had given him so much work had been. "it must be something to do with their venom or their saliva or something, it must have neutralised whatever was in their mother's venom."

One of the coiled Lyndworms lifted it's head and glared at Tom, hissing menacingly; Dean reached out, gently resting a hand on it's head, and it settled back down again.

"I-I've never seen anything like it," Tom stammered, "this isn't possible!"

"That's OK," Dean replied, "these things aren't supposed to exist." He gave a quiet mirthless laugh.

"That's what you call hair of the dog," murmured Bobby.

"Hair of the pups," Tom replied, still breathless with disbelief.

Sam looked at Dean in sheer joy, "This is fantastic bro', the best news ever!" He laid his uninjured hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Yeah;" Dean looked up at his brother, and Sam's joy dissolved rapidly when he saw a tear trickle down Dean's cheek as he spoke.

"Yeah, it's the best news ever," Dean whispered sadly, "an' now, I'm gonna repay them by stabbin' them through the neck with an iron blade".

Xxxxx

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 11

Poor Dean is very confused, and sad, and angry …

xxxxx

Guys, I know I said that this would be the last chapter but, well, um, basically, the story has kind of got away from me, and the end result is, um, well, ... *looks around sheepishly* … I lied! What can I say? Chapter 12 is in progress and will definitely, certainly, absolutely, beyond all doubt, totally, without question, irrefutably, and unquestionably be the end.

I hope.

xxxxx

It seemed like an age before anyone spoke. Sam's jaw seemed to be making it's best effort to work it's way to the floor.

"You're not thinkin' what I think you're thinking'?" Bobby whispered.

"All I'm sayin'," Dean began, knowing that whatever came out of his mouth would sound hopelessly illogical, "is they helped me an' I …" he tailed off, looking up at Bobby, "I don't wanna hurt 'em."

"Couldn't we let them go somewhere remote?" asked Sam.

Bobby looked between the boys, "I can't believe I'm hearin' this," he spluttered, "OK, they did good for you; it's probably some kinda genetic species preservation thing that the child and parents' toxins neutralise each other, or an instinct thing, perhaps the wound tasted or smelled of their mother; I don't know; but whatever, they didn't do it out of love - you gotta know that right?"

Dean shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm healed, who cares about the whys and whatevers."

Bobby continued, a hint of exasperation animating his voice, " OK; look, they think you're their mom; but to every other livin' human on the planet they are a deadly predator. They might be cute now, but these things are gonna grow into thirty foot long killin' machines that make Jaws look like a kid's goldfish."

Dean looked hollow eyed into his lap, his face a mask of conflict; "I know," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Do I need to remind you that if your brother hadn't wasted their mother, they would have been dining out on you?" Bobby continued; "all you would have been to them then would be a source of protein, same as the other poor bastards the mother killed."

Dean looked up at Bobby, he knew the older man was talking sense and he loathed the weakness and emotion that was clouding his own judgement.

Sam knelt down beside his brother and looked up at Bobby, he felt compelled to offer some moral support; "but we don't go around slaughtering alligators just because they kill the odd person…" he knew the argument was lame, but his brother looked so torn, it all but broke his heart; the euphoria from knowing Dean was healed, long gone.

"No," sighed Bobby, "that's a different thing, and you know it Sam; we're not talking about the 'odd' person. Every so many years when these things are active, they kill dozens of people, hundreds even." Bobby continued, "and anyway, you know as well as I do; bears, cougars, alligators, sharks … any creature that turns maneater gets a bullet between it's eyes sooner or later".

Dean spoke up; "well then, let someone else friggin' do it." The words came out in a snarled sob between clenched teeth.

Bobby shook his head; there was overwhelming sympathy in the tired eyes. "OK kid, I appreciate this is putting you in a horrible situation. Let me do it."

"But what if they bite you?" Sam asked.

"He can't do it" Dean's voice interrupted, sounding suddenly calmer; "It's too dangerous, I'm not letting' anyone here take that sort of risk, it has to be me; I'm the only one they won't try to attack."

Tears were flowing freely down Dean's face now, and he was making no attempt to hide them.

Sam leaned in towards the dejected figure and rubbed his back sadly; "Can't we take them away somewhere, miles from anywhere; like in the desert or something, and leave them there?" As soon as the words left his mouth he knew that sentence was possibly a contender for the title of the most stupid thing he had ever said.

Bobby shook his head miserably, "I wish I could think of a solution, really I do, but I don't see that we have a choice."

"We don't" Dean looked up. "Dad wouldn't be sitting here on the floor snivelling like a girl; he'd get straight in there and do the job." he took a deep breath. "We're in the business of protectin' people, not snakes."

The commitment in the words didn't carry through to his tone or his face.

"Yeah, but Dean," Sam began gently.

"Please leave me alone," Dean whispered, "I don't wan' an audience for this."

Sam looked up at Tom, who had been standing discreetly in the doorway keeping well out of the conversation, "Tom, can't you do something?" he pleaded.

Tom looked to Bobby, then back at Sam; "what would you want me to do Sam?"

"Can't you do it humanely?" Sam whispered, "You know, sort of put them to sleep?"

Tom shook his head, the regret clear in his eyes, "Sam, I'm a doctor, not a vet." he shook his head, "I wouldn't have the first idea what to give them and in what quantities to make it completely humane and painless, I couldn't even begin to guess; I'm sorry Sam."

"PLEASE." Dean's voice was clear and sharp; "please, all of you, go away and leave me alone."

Sam looked to Bobby who nodded sadly; he put the knife on the floor at Dean's feet.

"When you're ready son."

Sam stood up, but appeared rooted to the spot. "Dean, let me …"

"Please Sam"

Sam bent down and squeezed Dean's shoulder, then turned, slowly walking out of the room, ushered by Bobby.

"If you need help, son; just ask … " Bobby spoke softly, there was no response.

The door clicked shut behind them.

Xxxxx

Dean looked up to the ceiling and took a long deep breath; he turned to the creatures coiled on the floor beside him; "you two creepy little jerks have thrown a bomb into the middle of my friggin' world," he said softly. "Everything was so simple; we found supernatural stuff, we killed it." He sighed, "an' then you two little sonsofbitches came along, did me a freakin' favour, and now look at me!"

He stared at the motionless scaly knot for a while, "but then I suppose we kinda came along and threw a bomb in the middle of your world; we did kill your Mom; an' lets be honest, I'm a piss-poor substitute!"

Wiping his face, he took a deep breath before continuing; "see, the thing is your mom was one big, scary broad, and she was killin' loads of good people, no doubt to feed your scaly asses; an' the thing is, although you guys are cute now, well, in a kinda creepy, scaly sorta way; you're both gonna grow up to be big an' fierce an' hungry jus' like your Mom." He paused for a moment, "an' it's my monumentally crappy duty to stop that happening."

The two infant Lyndworms remained huddled in an unmoving pile on the floor beside him.

"I wanted to grow up to be jus' like my Dad," Dean muttered absently; "thing is, if my Dad was here, he wouldn't be worrying about the rights and wrongs of it all, he would've iced you by now and just got the job done; oh yeah, he took his duty very seriously, my Dad!" He sighed, "he wouldn't be sitting here on the floor feelin' sorry for himself and whining about how unfair his freakin' life is … so I guess in the end, I didn't grow up to be like to be much like my Dad at all."

He leaned back against the wall.

"An' I can't believe I'm baring my soul to a pair of freakin' lizards."

xxxxx

He looked down at the knife Bobby had left on the floor and felt the bile rise in his throat as he picked it up and stared at the blade. His fingers curled around the handle and he turned to look at the two coiled reptiles, fingers tightening as he leaned in towards them; raising the knife.

He hovered for what seemed like a lifetime; knife poised in his trembling fist, eyes closed. His breathing quickened as his conscience fought for dominance over his father's voice in his head; "_if it's supernatural, Dean, we kill it; we don't show mercy, because these supernatural bitches don't show us any, we just do what's necessary_ …"

Gritting his teeth he felt his bicep clench as he brought the knife down with all his might, grunting as it embedded with a loud 'thud' into the floor, sending a heavy jolt through his body hard enough to make his ribs rattle. His head slumped into his chest; "I can't, can't do it…" he groaned, the tears flowing freely.

He reached out to the two creatures; confusion overwhelming him; what to do? Do what Sam said? Take them out into the wilderness miles from anywhere and let them fend for themselves? The chances were that nature would do the job for him, but that was good right?

He sighed; Bobby would probably hate him forever for doing it; hell, he would hate himself forever for taking such a cowards way out.

He punched the floor beside him; Damnit, Sam was supposed to be the one with the conscience and the feelings and all that woman stuff; pull yourself together Winchester - you'll have to start shavin' your frickin' legs next.

As he gathered up the first scaly body his heart stood still.

Xxxxx

tbc


	12. Chapter 12

HAIR OF THE DOG

Chapter 12

As Michael Jackson once said; this is it!

Dean's trials and tribulations force him to face some long-buried inner demons and come to a surprising, but satisfying conclusion.

Reposted because I just re-read and spotted a typo - oopsy

xxxxx

As a good couple of hours passed, Sam grew more and more antsy. "I should go up, see if he's OK;" he kept glancing at the stairs, fiddling with his beer bottle, pacing back and forth; "what if one of them turned on him?"

"Will ya sit down;" Bobby snapped, "you heard your brother, he don't want anyone there, he's real cut up about this whole business; he won't appreciate anyone bargin' in on him Sam; not even you."

"It's just a crappy situation all round," sighed Tom from a chair in the corner of the room.

Sam sat at the table and took another swig of his beer before leaping to his feet again, "there must be something we can do, somewhere we can take them; we just need to think logically about this."

"Bobby wearily scraped a hand over his face; "If they stayed that size, then yes; but you must appreciate that more than most; you've seen one of these damn things up close and personal, you've seen the size of it. It's twenty or thirty foot of practically invisible, man eatin' dragon with venomous halitosis and a vile temper; you tell me what we can do with it."

Sam flopped back down into the chair with a defeated sigh; "Sam, these are the creatures that medieval dragon lore was based on; they were so vicious and violent, that in most European lore they were symbols of all mankind's fears; people were rightly terrified of them."

Bobby crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Sam; "You wanna be responsible for unleashing that on the population?"

Suddenly the three men fell silent as they heard a creak on the landing.

xxxxx

They looked up to see Dean making his way slowly down the stairs. Sam leapt out of his chair; "dude, you ok?" he gasped.

"They're dead." Dean announced quietly.

Sam felt the tears prick, and reached out to grasp Dean's slumped shoulder. "You killed 'em?"

Dean shook his head, looking up through hollow eyes at Sam. "I couldn't." His lip curling in self-disgust.

Bobby closed his eyes briefly, then looked at Dean, "So what happened, son?"

Dean shook his head, looking despondently back at Bobby; "... didn't have the stomach."

He tried and failed to read Bobby's expression. "I know, save your breath," he sighed, "you don't have to give me the lecture. You can't hate me any more than I hate myself right now."

He stared defiantly, daring Bobby to shout him down; but the older man spoke calmly and sympathetically. "I don't hate you, kid, just tell me what happened."

Dean shrugged, "dunno; I picked them up, thinkin' they'd wrap themselves roun' me again so I could …" he hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor in shame, "… take them out to the Impala, to, er, take them away somewhere; but they were all limp an' barely movin', they didn't change colour an' their eyes were all cloudy."

He paused sheepishly to gauge Bobby's reaction to his revelation, but if Bobby were angry or disappointed, he made no show of it.

Dean continued, "I bundled them up on my lap for a bit, thought they might've got cold, I'm sure I read somewhere that reptiles don't like the cold, but they just stayed there, and never moved again. I'm pretty sure they're dead." He murmured.

Bobby glanced across at Tom who was remaining a discreet distance from the exchange hugging his empty beer bottle.

Tom nodded smartly, "I'm on my way," he beckoned Dean, "C'mon Dean, in case I need a bodyguard."

Shrugging his shoulder out of his brother's grasp, Dean trudged up the stairs behind the Doctor.

Watching his brother unenthusiastically climbing the stairs, Sam turned to Bobby; "We should never have asked him to do that," he spat furiously, "look at him; he's in bits."

Bobby sat at the table and sighed heavily; "Sam, you're such an open book. I can read your thoughts as easy as I can read the TV Guide, but your brother; it's so easy to forget what a soft heart he carts around inside that damned suit of armour he wears." He groaned miserably, "this is without a doubt the most crappiest, crapped up situation I have ever gotten into in the whole time I've been doin' this crappy job."

Sam's face softened as he watched Bobby vacantly examining the label on his bottle; "Jeez, we're all like this over two snakes;" he smiled, "God help us if that was two puppies up there!"

Xxxxx

"Yep, they're dead alright;" Tom confirmed, trudging back down the stairs alone.

"How?" Bobby and Sam asked in unison.

"Don't know" Tom shrugged, "my guess would be dehydration. Maybe malnutrition;" he shrugged. "Look, they're infants; it's been a week since their mother was killed, I'm guessing they wouldn't have eaten or drunk since then. That little burst of energy when they latched onto Dean was probably all they had left."

"Where is Dean?" asked Sam, "still upstairs; uh, tidyin' up," Tom replied softly.

Sam dashed up the stairs two at a time.

Xxxxx

He opened the door slowly and peered cautiously into the room. Dean was sitting slumped on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the coiled bodies.

Sam walked over and stared down at the limp grey coil on the floor "Poor little dudes," he sighed, sitting on the bed next to Dean; "I wish we'd never taken this job."

Dean nodded mutely in agreement.

Sam's uninjured arm instinctively moved across his brother's hunched back, feeling Dean's muscles tense at the touch. Sitting together in silence they stared sadly at the creatures until eventually Sam spoke up; "at least they spent the last few minutes of their lives curled up with their Mom."

Dean slowly turned to him, glistening green eyes blazing with anger; "friggin' shit apology for a mother I was, just sat on my ass and watched them starve to death."

Sam leaned against his brother, relishing the closeness; "Dean, they were dead from the moment I killed their mother. If anyone's to blame I am."

Dean looked up and shook his head, "we were on a job; we were gonna kill her one way or the other. I should never have been dumb enough to put you at that sort of risk.

A familiar voice from behind the door chimed in; "I'm gonna knock your damn heads together, if you don't stop blamin' yourselves; neither of you are to friggin' blame. It's just one of the crappy things that goes with the territory in this godforsaken job."

Bobby strode into the room and stood, arms crossed, glaring at the brothers.

"I know that," Dean snapped back, "it's not that I'm angry about." He looked up at Bobby, his tearstained face a mask of anger.

He took a deep breath; "I'm angry because I freakin' care."

Sam and Bobby both stared at Dean.

"I shouldn't care;" Dean shrugged; a scowl crossing his face; "they're friggin' lizards. I'm a hunter, killin' things is what I do; and here I am sittin' snivelling' over 'em like a five year old," he snarled through clenched teeth.

"Dean, you're bein' hard on yourself …" Sam's reply was cut short.

"It's a hard job," Dean snapped back, "we find somethin' Supernatural, we kill it. End of story", he shouted angrily.

Shaking his head, Sam tried to calm his brother, "It's not as simple as that."

"Yes it is; we kill them and we don't show them any mercy, 'cos they don't show us any." Dean snorted.

Bobby smiled, "I've heard those words before, but not from you."

xxxxx

He walked over to the bed, "scoot up" he muttered, waiting for the brothers to shift up and make room. He sat down, turning to face them.

"Now you listen to me, Dean Winchester," Bobby snapped, "the day you stop carin' will be the day you break your momma's heart."

Dean physically jolted at the words; Sam flinched and pulled him closer, squeezing his shoulders.

"All that stuff about not showin' mercy? Those are your daddy's words." Bobby smiled, remembering his old friend, "your daddy was a strong, hard hunter, an' a good, good man, and yes, sometimes he did have a strange sense of persective; but you both know as much as I do, he was all broken up inside." Bobby looked straight into the bemused green eyes which were fixed on him; "sometimes he did things that a rational man wouldn't have done; but he only ever did the things he did because he thought they were the right things to do; he cared – in his own way."

The brothers sat in silence.

"I remember something else your daddy said once;" Bobby smiled, "He told me all about your mom and told me she was beautiful in every way it was possible for a person to be beautiful;" he smiled, "he told me she cared so deeply about everyone and everything around her; the love that came from within her was so strong you could almost hold it."

Both Winchesters stared at Bobby, Sam absently stroking his brother's back, like two children listening to a bedtime story.

"Dean, you're not just your daddy's son, you're your momma's son too." Bobby continued, " in fact, you're far more like her than you were ever like your daddy; you look like her, you think like her and whether you like it or not, you have her kind and loving nature, so suck it up, tough guy!"

"I've seen you, torturing yourself over bein' too late to save someone, or killin' an innocent." He smiled, "You act the macho meathead, like nothing' matters to you, jus' brushin' off tragedy with a smartass comment and a table full of shots, but the fact is, you just ain't very good at it; everyone who knows you knows when you're hurtin' boy.

Dean looked up to Bobby, the tears glistening in his eyes; "But Bobby, you can't do the job when you're all wrapped up carin' about everythin', it's stupid; it clouds your judgement. I mean, perfect example; look at the state of me, frettin' over two dead lizards."

Bobby smiled, "Bein' a good hunter don't mean you have to be uncaring; that just makes you cruel, turns you into a monster like Gordon Walker." He explained, "bein' a good hunter means sometimes havin' to make crappy horrible decisions for the greater good; an' sometimes it hurts you so bad, it all but breaks your heart." he sighed, "Those poor little fellers did you a good turn, and you saw something in them other than bein' evil scaly maneaters; you cared about them, and it hurt you to think you would have to waste 'em."

"Yeah, all very virtuous an' all, but what good is it if in the end I didn't have the jewels to do it?" sighed Dean.

"Boy," snorted Bobby, "I'd rather see you agonising and frettin' over doin' something unsavoury, I'd rather see you refuse to do it than see you just marchin' in and doin' it without a second thought."

"Bein' able to care makes you examine all possibilities an' alternatives before you jump in and fire the gun. It makes you a good, strong, FAIR hunter."

He prodded Dean in the chest, "an' you, princess, are a good, strong, fair hunter, you friggin' moron."

"Do you think I wanted you to kill those things, 'specially after what they did for you?" Bobby asked, "heck, I'd have made a pen in the barn for 'em myself if I knew they weren't gonna grow big enough to eat the house – with me in it."

"So, I don't wanna hear any more of this crap about not carin', otherwise, God help me, I'll find the nearest Lyndworm an' feed you to it myself."

Dean looked up at the older man and gave a wet-eyed smile.

Bobby got up with a grunt, patting the elder Winchester on the shoulder; "Now let's get ourselves downstairs and give those critters a hunters' send off, c'mon we'll drink to their scaly asses with a cold one".

Xxxxx

Tom hung around for a couple more days, keeping in the background, quietly, subtly keeping an eye on Dean. When he was confident the elder Winchester was completely mended, nad sam's arm wasn't going to give any trouble he announced that he was heading home.

"I've spent so long here lookin' after your pretty, pretty ass, I'll probably get back and find a pile of dead hunters on my doorstep," he laughed, standing in the yard, shaking hands with Bobby and the Winchesters.

"Hey, you've been freakin' privileged to be anywhere near my awesome ass, dude," Dean countered.

Sam laughed, "that's not what you said when you were takin' his temperature, was it Tom?"

Dean's eyes widened in horror as the three men doubled up laughing.

As the laughing subsided, along with the elder Winchester's blush, Tom spoke up; "seriously man, I'm so glad you're better, it really was touch and go for a time, but you are one tough, stubborn sonofabitch!"

"Yeah, thanks to you", Dean smiled sadly, "an' I did have a bit of help from a couple of friends."

"Now, next time we meet can we do it over a beer?" Said Tom with a smile, "not a damn sick bed."

"You got it!" smiled Sam, "an' thanks - again."

Tom turned to walk away, then hesitated. "Oh Dean," he grinned, turning back to face the three men; "don't worry ... in the ear" he mouthed with a grin, sticking his finger in his ear.

Dean stared nonplussed; "what's he mean?" He turned to Sam, "what's he talkin' 'bout?"

Sam and Bobby exchanged glances with a laugh and walked back into the house leaving the elder Winchester standing, perplexed, in the yard as Tom's truck pulled away with a honk.

Xxxxx

Another day passed before the Winchesters took their leave from Bobby's with fond farewells and hit the road again.

"Feels good to be back in my girl," Dean smiled broadly, "it's been too long."

Sam smiled, turning to his brother, "You owe her an apology dude; last time you were in her you spent the best part of the trip puking all over her - an' me!" Bobby was all day out here cleanin' her up while you were out of it.

Dean cringed; "oh, my poor baby;" he lovingly patted the steering wheel, "I'm so sorry baby, I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll give your leather the full works at the next town; an' a complete oil change, how's that honey?"

"Hey, what about me - don't I get an apology?" Sam snorted; "I had to spend the best part of half a day sitting in your puke!"

"Nah," grunted Dean, "call it payback for all the times I had to change your diapers when you were a noisy, stinky little rugrat!"

The brothers sat in amiable silence for some time as the Impala sailed along the endless highway.

"Bobby's right you know," Dean broke the silence, "'bout all that caring stuff; friggin' scary how he knows me better'n I know myself."

"I do care; I hate it, but I do. Every time I see some poor bastard who don't deserve it get iced, it beats me up. I've tried so hard to hide it over the years; Dad told me to suck it up otherwise it would get me killed." He turned briefly to Sam, "but this friggin' episode with those two little dudes has really shook me up; I mean is everything we hunt evil?" He pondered; "was that Lyndworm evil or was she just a mom feedin' her babies?"

"Feedin' her babies on people," corrected Sam; "there you go again," he added with a smile, "doing all that girly carin' stuff again…"

Dean sighed, "crap, my life has suddenly become so much more complicated," he thought for a moment; "I've spent so long tryin' to be like Dad, and buryin' all the touchy feely stuff, tryin' to be the perfect huntin' machine; hard, clinical, focussed; it never occurred to me that whatever I did, or said, or wore, in the end, the simple fact is that I'm nothin' like him."

"It's no shame bein' like mom;" Sam ventured, watching Dean closely; "No" Dean smiled warmly for the first time in days, "No it's not; not at all." He paused for a moment as if in thought, "In fact it's awesome."

Silence reigned again, all that could be heard was the soothing thrum of the Impala's engine. Dean's eyes flickered across to his brother.

"Quit lookin' at me like that!" he snapped.

Sam beamed broadly, "so, are we havin' chick flick moment, dude?"

Dean cringed, "it feels like the whole friggin' movie, complete with trailers and popcorn!"

"Awesome" Sam smiled broadly.

Dean huffed, "Oh God, we're not gonna end up chuggin' Darjeeling and discussing recipes and PMT are we?" He gripped the steering wheel, "gimme a break, I'm havin' issues here, man, it's freakin' embarrassin', I mean all that carin' an' sharing' stuff; that's your department."

"Apparently not any longer," smiled Sam. He turned to his brother with a mischevious grin, "Hey Dean?"

"What?"

"Does this mean I'm still 'bitch' or do you want to have a go?"

xxxxx

End


End file.
